


Sword smithing has always just been another type of magic

by Nefarious_Matchbox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Piece
Genre: Adult Harry, Blacksmith!Harry, Collection of Word Prompt Based Writings, Crossover, Drinking, Gen, Harry is Harii, Marines, One Piece World, One Shot, Powerful Harry, Pre-Series, Shichibukai - Freeform, Snarky Harry, Straw Hat Pirates, Swearing, To Time Skip, Violence, Whitebeard Pirates - Freeform, also posted on ff.net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefarious_Matchbox/pseuds/Nefarious_Matchbox
Summary: ONE SHOT "If Mihawk was going to become the world's greatest swordsman, he would need a sword to match. Luckily, he stumbled upon the peculiar green-eyed man named Harii who was the best smith he'd ever met. It started off as threaten-and-irritably-obey, and now it was more like give-and-take (though Mihawk still threatened sometimes)." Collection fic, gen, long, T for swearing.-“I am looking,” he said, placing Kappatsuna Yoru on the table between them, “for the maker of this sword. Perhaps you know something of it.” He narrowed amber eyes at the man.“Hmm.” The man reached out with gentle fingers and picked up the katana. He ran his fingers over the hilt wrappings, then slid the blade out of the sheath minutely. “Kappatsuna Yoru, right?”“How do you know?” Mihawk demanded, eyes narrowing and body tensing.“Well,” the man put the katana back on the table and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “It’d be a bit of a bad thing if I didn’t recognize my own work, right?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mihawk might be slightly OOC, but I tried. Also, the word prompts aren't necessarily chronologically arranged. Any and all Japanese terms came from Google translate and similar sites, so forgive any errors. Unbeta-ed. I don't own any of Eichiro Oda's works or creations, and only claim ownership of my ideas and personal changes to the fandom.

**Insufficient**

Why was it that all the weapons he found were insufficient? It was difficult to find a sword of master craftsmanship that fit his tastes on the Grand Line, and just when he thought that he’d gotten one it fell apart on him after only seven months.

Mihawk scowled at the before mentioned sword, jammed into its sheath and leaned against the chair of his coffin boat. It had looked good, and only felt slightly awkward in his grip, but here he was, sailing back to Suchiru Island (1). He landed in silence and wandered through the town and its many forges and smith shops, looking over merchandise. He couldn’t find anything. Everything, even here, the island well-known for its weapons and their fine make, was insufficient!

**Diamond**

He had called Suchiru Island a lost cause when he found it. Like a diamond in the rough it sat in its simple sheath and wooden stand on the shelf in a shop. It was settled there with all the ordinary and worthless katanas like it wasn’t worth anything, but Mihawk immediately snatched it up.

The store owner watched nervously. He pulled it from the dark blue sheath and the blade cleaved the air cleanly, just like that. Mihawk stared, amber eyes intense, at the clean silver blade and the blue-tinted waves within the steel. The hilt wasn’t anything special, red leather wrapped neatly and gold cords braided tightly in a criss-crossing pattern for grip.

It was one of the most beautiful swords he’d ever seen.

“You,” he said to the shop keeper. “How much is this?”

**Path**

The sword, which he found was named _Kappatsuna Yoru_ (2), was a work of art. It sat easily in his hand and sliced through flesh and steel like they were naught but water. He immediately became inamoured with it, and after nine months of fighting with it at his side, he wanted more. While this katana was beautiful, it didn’t feel right as his skills grew in leaps and bounds. He felt that if he wanted to become the strongest he would need to cut his own path, and while _Kappatsuna Yoru_ would start him on his journey, he would need a sword to call his own.

So he tracked down the rumors of the swordsmith, a man named Harii, to a mountainous island on the Grand Line, and set forth with the grim determination to leave with a sword befitting the name of Dracule Mihwawk!

**Annoying**

Their first encounter was far different than he’d expected it to be. Harii had turned out to be a reclusive man, and after a day of searching Mihawk retired to the nearest tavern to rest. The customers there were rowdy and annoying, but he was only going to be there for a few hours, so he did not slaughter them.

Unfortunately, it also turned out to be busy, and not half an hour after he’d settled down someone dared to take a seat at his table. When he glanced up with murderous eyes, he was surprised to see a man slumped over the table. He had black hair and clutched a tankard with a limp hand, and wore loose white shorts, a gold sash around his waist and an emerald green shirt. He seemed to be half-catatonic and had no intention of converseing with Mihawk, so the swordsman left him alone.

Of course, with his lithely built composure and lightly tanned skin, it did not take long for someone to notice and try to take advantage of his exhausted state. “Hey pretty,” the man said, leering disgustingly and leaning against the man’s chair. “You seem so down! Want me to cheer you up?”

The man muttered something that might have been, “Fuck off,” but the moron obviously did not hear it and just laughed, looming closer. “Come on, come on,” he said. “Don’t play hard to get; I’ll just break through your fake denial and woo you with my awesomeness.”

The man once again mumbled something along the lines of, “The only thing that’s going to get broken is your hard skull, fucker,” but the stranger was either hard of hearing or ignored it and reached out to grab his shoulder.

“You’re getting annoying,” Mihawk said suddenly, startling the man was he realized for the first time that there was someone else present. “Move along, or die.”

The man grew flustered, his face flushing with anger. “Who the hell are you, pretending to be this guy’s boyfriend or something? Forget him, pretty boy, and I’ll show you a real time!” He grabbed the man’s arm and yanked at it roughly.

Mihawk leisurely reached for _Kappatsuna Yoru_ , knowing the man would be in swords length for several seconds, but the black-haired man opposite him reacted first. His head shot up all the way, revealing thunderous green eyes, and a dagger stabbed into the moron’s hand.

“I said,” he snarled, “fuck off, you imbecilic dumb-ass!”

_Ah,_ Mihawk thought distantly, _this is interesting_.

**Recognise**

The moron stumbled off after that, clutching his hand and shaking. Mihawk watched him go until the door closed behind him, then turned his gaze on his table mate. The man was currently grimacing at his bloody knife, and wiped it off on a stray napkin. They fell into a heavy and awkward silence, before the man sighed and drained the last of his _sake_ (3). “So why are you here?” he asked without preamble.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow. The man’s moods had changed alarmingly quickly, but he was interesting so he deigned to answer his question.

“I am looking,” he said, placing _Kappatsuna Yoru_ on the table between them, “for the maker of this sword. Perhaps you know something of it.” He narrowed amber eyes at the man.

“Hmm.” The man reached out with gentle fingers and picked up the katana. He ran his fingers over the hilt wrappings, then slid the blade out of the sheath minutely. “ _Kappatsuna Yoru_ , right?”

“How do you know?” Mihawk demanded, eyes narrowing and body tensing.

“Well,” the man put the katana back on the table and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “It’d be a bit of a bad thing if I didn’t recognize my own work, right?”

**Correlate**

“You’re a pirate, right?”

Mihawk looked up from where he was examining another katana to glance at his ‘host.’ Harii was leaning against the door frame several feet away, looking disgruntled. It was understandable; he had dragged the man away from the tavern as soon as he’d gotten his name and forced him to show him his forge.

“Yes.”

“Dracule Mihawk,” the man continued, waving a wanted poster. “You’re worth a lot of money; what’s to stop me from reporting you in to the Marines?”

“You are a blacksmith with excellent weapons, I am a pirate with money; such things were meant to simply correlate. Besides, I will kill you where you stand before you could even reach for a DenDen Mushi.” Mihawk turned back to the shelves of weapons and continued admiring their clean lines and glimmering blades.

The man sighed, obviously aggravated, but put the poster back on the billboard on the wall. “So, asshole,” he said, pushing away from the doorframe. “Are you going to buy anything, or just stare?

**Shanks**

As was Mihawk’s constant luck, he ran into his old red-haired friend not two weeks after leaving Harii’s island. He had a new katana, a longer one with a broad blade and wide guard, and from the few times he’d used it he liked what he’d bought. _Kappatsuna Yoru_ was given back to Harii, to be sold off to someone else, but Mihawk left with no regrets.

Now, he couldn’t help but wish he’d stayed a little longer so that he could avoid this chance meeting.

“Mihawk!” Shanks cried, waving over the side of his ship. “It’s been a while! Come up on board so we can have a drink!”

He complied with a sigh and settled a respectable distance from the overly loud _Yonko_. They drank and exchanged stories, and it had been hours since their initial meeting when Shanks noticed his new weapon.

“Oi, oi, oi, Mihawk, where did you get this?” He poked at the katana’s crimson hilt and gold-trimmed sheath. “It’s new! Why did you ditch your old sword, it was fine!”

“Hmph.” He unsheathed the blade and laid it on the floor. The party slowed for a moment as everyone turned to stare at the sword. “I found the swordsmith who made _Kappatsuna Yoru_ ; he deigned to sale me another blade that suited me better.”

“You mean you threatened him,” Shanks deadpanned. But he reached out and picked up the blade, his experienced eyes examining it and its quality. “This,” he said slowly, swinging the blade, “is excellent. Where was it that you said you found this blacksmith?”

“I didn’t and I shall not.”

“Dahaha, so possessive, Mihawk! How mean!”

**Monstrosity**

He returned to Harii’s island several times over the months, every time leaving with something new. A dagger, a thick gold cross on a chain, a few needle blades and on one memorable occasion the hat he always wore. This time, two years after their first encounter, he entered Harii’s disguised forge with something far bigger in mind.

“You want me,” Harii said slowly, staring down at the sketch he’d been given, “to make you this monstrosity?”

Mihawk didn’t look away from where he was searching the cabinets; after several encounters they had become more comfortable around each other, and now Harii knew to keep a bottle of good wine on hand. He found it and popped it open with a convenient knife; taking a gulp, he said, “It does not need to be exactly that, but something along the general build. I feel that it will suit my style far better.”

Harii snorted and shoved his hair out of his eyes. “You do have the odd habit of using oversized swords.” He placed the yellowed paper on a table and scowled at it. He hummed and hawed for several minutes, and Mihawk let him take his time. He had learned that Harii was excessively stubborn at times.

The swordsmith growled eventually and grabbed the sketch from the table. He pulled a thin leather journal from the shelves and neatly placed the sketch inside. Mihawk knew what that meant – he had accepted the challenge, and now would iron out all the details inside that little brown book.

“I’ll need a month.”

“That long?” Mihawk taunted, raising an eyebrow. It _was_ obscenely long for the green-eyed man.

“Hey, I’ll need to buy lots of materials! Do you know how long it’ll take to get enough good quality iron for a sword this big? And all the pretty jewels you want on it too! Don’t rush me, asshole.”

Mihawk smirked and turned to the door. “Of course.”

**Silences**

Mihawk wasn’t one to socialise much. The only people he could he honestly enjoyed spending time with had to Shanks and his crew – and now Harii. He was surprised by the revelation when it came to him one evening at Harii’s comfortable house. It was forty minutes away from the town, perched on a mountain side with an excellent view of the sun setting over the green valleys. The swordsmith had decided to take a break from crafting him a new short sword to replace the one that hadn’t been of his make. The green-eyed man had invited him back to his house for a drink, and Mihawk, who had emptied his own stock of _sake_ on his ship a few days ago, accepted without complaint.

Now they sat on tall-backed chairs, watching night descend upon the world, and Mihawk found himself enjoying the companionable silence. If Shanks had to the social one of his few friends, the one who constantly joked and talked, Harii had to be the one who could enjoy comfortable silences and who grouched and grumbled but didn’t turn him away.

“More _sake_?” Harii asked, tilting the bottle in his direction as the last of the sunrays disappeared from view and the stars began to twinkle.

“Of course.”

**Haki**

Mihawk had once asked Harii if he used Haki to do all the strange and amazing feats that he claimed from his own brand of power. The swordsmith had seemed surprised, but just laughed after a moment.

“You are aware of Haki, then,” the world’s greatest swordsman stated.

“Yes, yes, and I can use it too,” Harii lifted his hand and after a moment it turned dark, gleaming with the black sheen of Armament Haki. “But no. All this,” he conjured a small flame in the palm of his hand that burned dark purple and hovering several inches over his skin, “is something _else._ ”

There was secretive measure to his tone that told Mihawk not to ask, so he didn’t.

**Names**

Harii was an odd name. It sounded like the basis of the name was foreign, but twisted to fit in better to the language. Mihawk had once asked the swordsmith about it, and his green eyes had turned to stare off into the distance. The silence had turned heavy and melancholic, and Mihawk shifted uneasily. After several seconds Harii shook his head, as if coming out of a daze, and he turned his gaze back to the scythe he was crafting.

“It’s part of a memory,” he had said. “Something long past, but I can’t quite bring myself to forget. So, I took up that name, to remember everything I’ve lost, and everything I have now.”

Mihawk didn’t ask again.

**Absence**

Sometimes Mihawk would go to Harii’s island and find his forge cold and his house empty. The first that had happened, he had gone to the same tavern they’d met in and interrogated the barkeep.

“Harii? He wanders off sometimes,” the man had said nervously, cleaning out a tankard and studiously not focusing on the katana levelled his way. “He has a boat; he likes to sail on some occasions. He’s always come back soon enough. He left a few weeks ago, so he should be back any day.”

The barkeep was right; after a day and a half Harii showed up, a sword he’d never seen at his side, a bandage around his arm and an odd-looking sea king tied to his back. He’d dropped off his prey at the butcher, gotten a hefty sum and led Mihawk back to his forge with minimal grumbling.

It happened several more times, but Harii had always shown up within two days of his arrival, so Mihawk didn’t press. He didn’t know how Harii did it, but he seemed to know whenever someone set foot into his forge or house.

He supposed that Harii, for all his scoffing at his pirate raiding and wild travelling, was just as wild as him.

**Swordsmith**

Mihawk had heard the saying that for a master to know his craft, he should be able to fight it, and he’d always believed it in terms of swordsmiths. But when he had met Harii, he’d never really tried to imagine him fighting with a sword. He had felt the strength inside the temperamental man, but never given it thought. But after seeing him come home after sailing with gashes and the strange sword at his side, he became curious.

He found out when Harii had come down to the harbour to look over his coffin boat curiously that the saying did indeed apply to the green-eyed man. The bounty hunters had approached fearlessly (foolishly) and surrounded them, claiming that they had the great Mihawk now, and that they better surrender or face their wrath.

Mihawk tore them apart easily, and was pleased to find that Harii had no qualms doing the same. Seeing him standing there with a bloody sword and a fierce look in his eyes, he figured that this was what a true swordsmith looked like.

**Yoru (Monstrosity ll)**

He had come back before the month was up, anxious to see his new weapon. Harii however had not let him into his forge and forced him to wait in the small lounge area out front for the next two days until he was ready, only coming out for food and a few hours’ worth of sleep.

When he emerged with a tired smile and an air of accomplishment, Mihawk knew that it was ready, and pushed past his friend to enter the forge. What he saw was not a disappointment.

It was just as large as he wanted, black blade gleaming. Gold plating and jewels in the hilt, white wrapped grip and smooth edges, it was more than he’d expected. He had only had the roughest of ideas in his head of what it would look like, and this was different. But it was a good different.

“How is it?” Harii asked from his position in the lounge, collapsed face first into a sofa.

“It’s,” he picked it up and swung it, careful not to break anything in the forge. “Perfect.”

“It better be. Its name is _Yoru_ – the Night.”

**Drunk**

Harii was an interesting drunk. While sober he was grouchy but cheerful enough, but when smashed he was – odd. He seemed to have an innate talent in pissing people off, and whenever he spoke to someone it had the side effect of being offensive in every way possible.

Like now.

“Hey Miiihawk, your sideburns are _weird_.” Harii commented from his spot on the ground of his patio. He was on his back, staring up at the pirate who sat in the chair next to him. He was cradling a bottle of alcohol, Odgen’s Finest Firewhisky, and his cheeks were flushed from the drink. “They’re all pointy and shit.”

“Harii. Control yourself.”

“Whaaat? They are. It’s like _Yoru_ – I can’t help but think, are you compensating for somethi – OW! Fucking Dracule, the hell was that for?”

**Inexplicable**

Mihawk had seen many strange things – things without explanation, things beyond anything he’d imagined or wanted to imagine. He knew that in a world like the one he lived in, there would always be people who knew more, or could do things that – weren’t natural.

He’d never thought Harii was one of them.

He glanced from the man that Harii had just incapacitated, to the burning residue from the fire whip Harii had called up to send him flying, then to the swordsmith himself. He met his eyes squarely, and there was a guarded look in those green orbs.

There was also something dark lurking in there, and Mihawk felt a shiver run up his spine. This man – he was something inexplicable, and it was best he let a sleeping dragon lie.

**Find**

It had been over six months since Mihawk had last seen Harii. He was stuck on his island, recovering from the gruesome fight that had finally given him the title of world’s strongest swordsman. Shanks had dropped by to congratulate him when he heard what had happened, and tease him over the enormous gash that had nearly ripped him apart after confirming that fact that no, Mihawk wasn’t going to die.

He just needed rest. His sword also needed to be looked over – fighting a swordsman like the one he had could have damaged the blade.

So that was why when Harii mysteriously beached his boat on the shores of the desecrate island, he was both surprised and pleased. Less so when the swordsmith proceeded to beat him over the head with his _Yoru_ notebook, but it was something.

As Harii obligingly checked over the sword, Mihawk asked how he’d found his island – after all, there were no eternal poses to his home.

Harii had just smiled mysteriously, and said, “I can find anything and anyone, Mihawk. It was no trouble at all.”

**Scars**

Being a swordsman, Mihawk had plenty of scars. It had never bothered him how they looked, but whenever the rain began to fall, he could feel some ache. It was a pain that went down to his bones and stayed with him for hours and unfortunately it rained a lot on his island.

One day, when Harii was visiting, there was a massive storm, and the observant swordsmith noticed grimace. He had gotten up without warning and wandered over to the canvas bag he always brought and pulled out a small jar. He tossed it to the pirate, who examined it curiously.

“What is this?” he asked, unable to read the foreign word s on the tin.

“Bombay’s Brief-Lapse Scar Cream (4),” Harii told him. “Put it on when they start to ache, and it’ll soothe it. If you apply it often enough the scars will start to fade too.”

Mihawk was tactful enough to not ask if that was why the numerous gruesome scars of Harii’s body were so pale.

**Naginata**

The offer, surprisingly, came from Shanks, one afternoon when the red-haired pirate had sought out the world’s strongest swordsman. “You’re still in contact with that miracle swordsmith of yours, right?” He said, taking a swig from his _sake_ bottle and watching his crew members wrestle on the ground.

“Yes. Why?” Mihawk glanced up over the top of his newspaper at his friend.

“I recently met up with Whitebeard for _sake_ , and he told me that not long ago his favorite _naginata_ (5) fell apart on him after one particularly difficult fight. I _might_ have accidentally mentioned your swordsmith, and he wanted to know if maybe he was interested in coming and working on it for him.” Shanks sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, grinning. He yelped as his bottle narrowly escaped a terrible death at the hand of the dagger Mihawk had drawn, and wrapped it in his arms protectively.

“…I will talk to him.” Because Harii was a grown man who could protect himself, and if he wanted to go and create a weapon for the world’s strongest man and spread his reputation, then he could. He would just have to go with him.

“Dahaha, great!”

**Whitebeard (Naginata ll)**

Unsurprisingly, Harii hummed and hawed (as he always did while contemplating a job) but finally shrugged and accepted. Mihawk called Shanks on his DenDen Mushi and told him to inform Whitebeard of their arrival.

“Wait, don’t you need his location?” Shanks had asked, both mystified and excited.

“No. Harii will find him.” Then he hung up, relishing Shanks’ spluttering.

They left immediately. Harii crammed his forge into his magic canvas bag and tied his boat to Mihawk’s and led them on their way. Mihawk didn’t understand how he knew where he was going – he would just murmur those foreign words and turn the ship in the direction where Whitebeard supposedly was, but he didn’t ask questions. They spent the days drinking and only talking occasionally; Harii seemed to be enjoying soaking up the sun as he lay on the floor of the coffin boat.

The _Moby Dick_ came into sight quickly, and Mihawk was satisfied to see the pirates on board scrambling about to prepare for their arrival. Harii didn’t so much as twitch when they pulled up alongside, but he did crack open an eyelid when a ladder was thrown down to them.

“Are you coming?” Mihawk asked impatiently, a foot already on the ladder.

“Jeez, keep your pants on, asshole. Give me a second.” Harii grabbed his bag and slung it over shoulder and sleepily climbed up behind him.

The deck was just about bare, except for the Commanders and Whitebeard himself. He was still as intimidating as ever, and for a moment Mihawk was worried that Harii would falter under the giant’s relentless gaze.

Then an angry exclamation of “Fuck!” erased his worries, and he turned back to watch Harii wrestle the strap of his bag free form where it had caught on the ladder.

“Hawk-Eyes.”

Mihawk turned to face Whitebeard, who was watching them with blank eyes, and tilted his head to the side in question.

“Is this the swordsmith that Shanks spoke of?” Whitebeard’s voice was coarse and strong, and it rumbled through his bones. Mihawk was about to answer when Harii stepped up beside him and crossed his arms petulantly.

“Yes, I am; thank you so much for addressing me directly,” he said sarcastically.

The commanders around the deck stiffened at his impertinent tone, but a grin just bloomed across their captain’s face, and he laughed. “Gurarara! I like you, brat! Tell me, did you make Hawk-Eyes’ blade?”

Harii scowled and jabbed a finger in Mihawk’s direction. “You mean _Yoru?_ Of course; this asshole just came up one day and demanded that I make that monstrosity.”

There were muffled choking noises at the profanity and Mihawk’s lack of reaction, but Whitebeard just laughed harder. “So, will you make me a _naginata_?” He asked after he’d calmed down.

“Mmm, maybe. Is that it there?” Harii pointed to the _naginata_ leaning against the back of Whitebeard’s chair, nearly out of sight.

“Yes, _Gin Yubi_ (6). Do you wish to…”

Whitebeard trailed off as Harii made a grabbing motion and the _naginata_ flew and came to a stop in front of him. It floated in place as the green-eyed man paced around it, muttering under his breath. From his spot off to the side, Mihawk sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. Must Harii be such a handful?

Harii eventually let it drop to the ground and turned to stare at Whitebeard. “It was a fine weapon,” he said into the silence.

“It was,” Whitebeard said slowly, now far more cautious of the seemingly harmless man that had just proven to be far more a threat than he’d assumed.

“I can make a better one.”

The grin came back onto the _Yonko_ ’s face, this time wider than ever. “Gurarara! Show me, brat.”

**Pressure (Naginata lll)**

“How quickly can you have it finished?” It was First Division Commander Marco who asked the question. “Which island do we need to stop at for you to work? And what materials do we need?”

Harii hummed and withdrew a white leather journal from his bag and ripped out a page. He began to sketch and write down the dimensions of the broken _naginata_ in front of him. “Maybe five days? And you won’t need to stop anywhere. I have everything with me.” Putting down his journal, he pried open the mouth of his canvas bag and reached in. He reached in and in and in until his arm was swallowed and went farther than the bag should’ve physically allowed. Then he grunted and withdrew his arm, pulling out a long brick chimney the thickness of his arm that was quickly followed by the hearth, which was as big as his torso. He placed it on the deck with a little bit of maneuvering, then snapped his fingers. Everyone watched, incredulous, as the hearth swelled and grew until it was the proper size for a smith’s hearth. Harii did the same with an anvil, several bags of coal and raw iron and a large bucket of water that despite being knocked over didn’t spill.

He paced a circle around his small forge and the planks turned to cobblestone beneath his feet, eliminating the chance of anything catching fire. He stood back and crossed his arms, and nodded. “There,” he said, satisfied. “Now I can get started.” He lit the hearth with a wave of his arm, and proceeded to place a bucket of raw iron in it to melt.

Whitebeard began to laugh and laugh at the display, his smile impossibly wide, and Mihawk just felt even more exasperated. Honestly, Harii had always worked well under pressure.

**Bag**

Harii had a peculiar grey canvas bag he always took with him on journeys. At first Mihawk thought it was an ordinary bag, until the swordsmith had reached in and pulled out an entire crate of _sake_ ; a crate that should not have fit.

Had it been anything other than _sake_ then he would have questioned it, but since it was, and some of the damn finest _sake_ he’d ever tasted, he let it be.

**Lightning (Scars ll)**

Mihawk wasn’t called Hawk Eyes for no reason, and his amber eyes could pick out the finest detail of a butterfly’s wing from three dozen feet away. So, he was quick to notice the strange, faded scars all over Harii’s body. There was a long, deep scar on his forearm, from a knife most likely, an odd puncture wood in his other arm the size of half his palm (which must’ve hurt like hell) and most disturbingly the words carved into the back of Harii’s hand.

He couldn’t read what it said, for it was in Harii’s strange language, but he’d asked once, when the smith was drunk. Shamelessly taking advantage of the man’s lack of coherency, he pressed and pressed until Harii finally sighed and said, “I must not tell lies.”

Mihawk didn’t ask again, because the letters were _old_ , and stirring up bad childhood memories was not a nice thing. He got explanations for the other scars (an insane madman, a beast he slew with his sword) but when he asked about the peculiar little scar on his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt, he got only silence.

“That,” Harii said eventually, tone darker than he’d ever heard before, “is not something you should ever ask about again.”

**Ages**

It had taken Mihawk several visits to finally get a handle on Harii’s age, and he was surprised when he found it out. It appeared that the swordsmith was a few years older than him, despite his short stature.

When they first met Mihawk had been twenty-three and sailing the seas for several years, and Harii had been twenty-five and on the mountain island for who knew how long. It was irritating in a childish manner that the man was older than him, even after all these years. Harii had never missed the chance to hold it over his head.

**Short**

Harii was short for his age. He topped out at 152 cm (5’5”), with lithe muscle that was corded tightly around his skinny frame. Mihawk had never asked – after it all, it could just be genes – but after seeing many things (the old, old scars on his back, Harii’s aversion to small spaces, his habit of hoarding food) he had a dark idea of why his friend was so small. He preferred not to think over it, because while he himself was an orphan and he knew that child abuse was a very real thing, he found it painful to imagine any sort of family hurting a kid. Especially if that kid had been Harii, or even someone else, like Shanks.

So he left it well alone, and was sure to make sure Harii got his food whenever he wanted and that he never had to go into the small closets to grab things, and didn’t say a word when Harii always bought boots with just a little bit of heel.

**Limb**

When Shanks had come to visit missing an arm, Mihawk was very surprised, and not in a pleasant way. To see his friend, who had always been strong and an equal match for him, with an empty space where his left arm used to be caused an uncomfortable twisting to appear in his stomach. When he asked about it, Shanks had just laughed like usual and said, “Don’t worry, Hawky – it was worth it.”

So Mihawk went back to his usual distant composure and replied, “Do not expect me to spar with a one-armed ingrate.”

It was after a large party and the crew was passed out on the forest floor that Mihawk sat down next to his red-haired friend. They sat in silence for several minutes, comfortable, until Mihawk spoke. “If you wish,” he said, “I could speak with Harii. I have seen him trying out ideas for prosthetics that are powered by his own peculiar powers. His craftsmanship is excellent enough to make one strong enough for even you.”

Shanks had coughed in surprise, eyes wide, before he relaxed and an easy smile crossed his face. “Aw, you care enough to let your precious swordsmith near me, you hawk?” Then he titled his head back and took a deep breath of the cool night air. “Naw. It’s just an arm; I’ll live. If I ever change my mind I’ll take you up on that offer, but for now… just three limbs is fine.”

**Potential**

“I heard you met someone interesting not long ago.”

Mihawk pushed his hat out of his eyes and glanced at Harii when he spoke. He was leaning on one of the numerous railings in Mihawk’s enormous castle, gazing out over the misty land as the sun rose.  “Mmm?”

“Some kid; Roronoa Zoro. Wasn’t he with the kid that Shanks always rambles about, Monkey or other?”

“Oh, him.” Mihawk swung his legs down from the table and reached for the bottle of _sake_ on it. “Yes, he has a strong spirit and good skill. All he needs is more drive and experience. It would best if he did not die before he achieved those.”

Harii laughed and shook his head. “Wow, the almighty Hawk bastard thinks someone has _potential_. That’s a first.”

**Protégé**

Mihawk had never thought himself to be the teacher type; maybe Shanks would be, or even Harii on a good day. But never himself. And yet here he was, with a teenaged swordsman prostrating himself on the ground at his feet and begging him to teach him.

(7 ) “Please! Train me as a swordsman!” Roronoa Zoro cried.

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m disappointed in you, Roronoa! Are you asking your enemy for instruction? Shame on you.” He looked away, setting his eyes on the dark world outside his window. “Get out of here. I have no time for a boring man. I think I was overestimating you.” He served himself a glass of wine, and when there was no answer, scowled at the still teenager. “What are you doing? That’s just embarrassing.”

“I wanna get stronger!”

“You were beaten by the baboons and you couldn’t get to sea, so you came back here. I have nothing to teach someone like that.”

There was silence, then, “I beat the baboons.”

He started, and turned incredulous eyes on the teenager. _He beat them?_

“You’re the only one left to beat here! But I’m not so stupid as to think that I’m good enough to beat you.”

 “I don’t understand,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You still see me as an enemy. Then why are you bowing to me and asking for my guidance? What’s the purpose?”

Roronoa sat up, a dark look in his eyes. “I wanna beat you!”

Mihawk couldn’t help it; he let a smirk cross his face and laughed. “You’re asking me to train a swordsman who wants to kill me? You’re weird, and what you’re asking is nonsense. Even so, what you’re doing is still embarrassing. Seems like you’ve found something more important than your ambition.” The green-haired teen’s face tightened. Mihawk looked to Perona. “Hey, ghost girl, treat him.” He ignored her squawk and turned back to Roronoa. “Your training will begin when you’re recovered.”

Roronoa’s face lit up, and he was dragged off without complaint. Mihawk watched them go, then turned his gaze to the glass in his hand. _What a clumsy fool. When a man like you swallows his pride, it’s always for someone else._ He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. _But I suppose that’s what makes it interesting. A man like him… Harii would be most interested in meeting him._

And damn. He’s got a protégé now. Harii will never let him forget it.

**Secret (Protégé ll)**

It was a silent dinner on Mihawk’s island between Zoro and the swords master himself when the teenager finally decided to ask the question that had been on his mind for days. “Where did you get your sword?” He said.

Mihawk paused and stared at him over his goblet of wine. “… Someone made it,” he said eventually.

Zoro felt a vein twitch in his forehead, and chewed angrily at his steak. “Yes, well, did you buy it? Or did someone smith it for you? And who?”

Mihawk amused himself with watching the vein throbbing in his student’s head and answered. “I had someone smith it for me. And I don’t think I’ll quite tell you who, Roronoa. Perhaps one day you will learn my secrets, but not now.”

**Abduct (Protégé lll)**

Zoro did eventually meet Harii – after all, he was to stay there for two years, so the swordsmith would end up coming around someday. It just so happened that the green-haired teenager was practicing on the beach when Harii’s boat came ashore.

Zoro watched the man who came ashore cautiously. For anyone to find Mihawk’s island either meant they were supposed to or purposefully searched it out – and the only people who did the latter were foolish bounty hunters. However it seemed the man wasn’t a hunter because he tied up his boat with not a single glance at Zoro, collected a canvas bag, and began to climb up the beach.

“Oi,” he called. “Who’re you?”

The man turned and pinned him with eyes just as intense as Mihawk’s, only green and bright like burning fire. “I would ask the same thing, but I already know who you are, Roronoa Zoro. Tell me, is Mihawk in?”

The man’s casual usage of the master swordsman’s name knocked Zoro off balance. “Uh, yes?” He said, confused.

“Good.” The man turned on his heel and began to march up the stone path towards the looming castle. Curious, Zoro sheathed his swords and followed. He watched the man make his way up the stone steps and go straight up to the large wood doors. He kicked them open without hesitation and yelled out, “Hawk bastard, come over here!”

There was the sound of a sigh, something Zoro had grown accustomed to, and Mihawk appeared from his reading room, massaging his temple. “Harii,” he said. To Zoro’s disbelief he only seemed aggravated and not furious like he’d expected him to be.

“Yo,” the green-eyed man said, brushing past Mihawk and collapsing into the sword master’s chair. “Why is Roronoa Zoro here? Did you abduct him? I thought I told you not to abduct people after Peron.”

Zoro watched with fascination as a vein began to throb in his master’s forehead. How was the green-eyed Harii not dead? He would be missing several limbs if he dared to annoy Hawk-Eyes so much. “Who’re you?” he couldn’t help but ask again.

Immediately Mihawk’s scorching glare was turned his way, but Harii just snorted and poured himself a glass of Mihawk’s precious wine. “Didn’t the asshole tell you?” The man grinned wickedly, eyes dancing. “I’m his sword smith.”

**Satisfaction (Naginata lV)**

It took Harii just as long as he said it would to finish Whitebeard’s naginata. He worked tirelessly night and day, only stopping to rest and eat when the metal needed to heat or cool to be workable again. Many would come and watch him work in awe. Mihawk could understand; Harii was a master at his craft, and watching any master at work was like watching a mesmerising dance. He hammered and heated, cooled and smoothed, carved a shaft of elder elm wood and painstakingly worked the best of patterns onto the setting ring for the blade. Finally, when it was finished, the _naginata_ stood tall, the blade gleaming with the blue waves that all excellent metal work had and the pole sanded to a smooth finish.

Harii was disheveled and had bags under his eyes and a perpetual scowl on his face, but there was pride in his eyes when he presented the finished weapon to Wihtebeard. The _Yonko_ had watched the whole crafting process with curiosity, and accepted the weapon eagerly. He stood and swung it, a grin on his face when it cut through the air with a whistle.

Mihawk could tell the satisfaction on Harii’s face was worth just as much as the money he was being paid, and had to give it to Shanks for giving them such an opportunity.

**Luffy** **(Limb ll)**

Mihawk had heard Shanks telling exaggerated tales about the little boy on Fuusha Island, and while acknowledged that the boy must have at least some potential for Shanks to give up an arm for him, he had never really thought it would be so much. After all, Shanks was a soft-hearted fool.

But now, looking into Monkey D. Luffy’s eyes and seeing a burning will that dared him to say a single scornful thing to his fallen first mate, he couldn’t help but understand. There was a spine of iron in that rubber body, and a will that transcended beyond the realms of ordinary man and into the place of legend.

This boy would go far. Monkey D. Luffy would bear watching.

**Perona**

Mihawk was not amused when he came home to his island to find it occupied by a pink-haired girl. He was quick to hold her at sword point and demanded what she was doing here. When she replied, terrified, that she had been tossed here unwillingly and that upon seeing such a ‘cute, gloomy castle’ she just had to investigate, he growled and released her.

“You can stay,” he told her. “So long as you break nothing, stay away from my room and the one next to it.” Because he would not have an insolent girl in his resting quarters, and Harii would never let him hear the end of it if she ventured into his.

So she stayed, and while she was annoying she usually stayed out of his way and only bothered him on occasion. He was most displeased, however, when she woke him on evening with her screeching, and found her standing outside his door.

“Someone sailed up the island!” she said, waving her umbrella excitedly. “A strange man in a green shirt!”

It was Harii then. He sent Perona scurrying with a few vicious words and went to dress himself. He entered the dining room ten minutes later to find Harii siting in _his_ chair, drinking wine, and giving Perona suspicious glances.

“Hey, Hawk bastard,” he said, waving his glass in the girl’s direction, “since when did you prey on young bubble-gum girls?”

Mihawk would eviscerate him. Slowly. (Even if the look on Perona’s face was rather amusing.)

**Assumed (Perona ll)**

Perona was quick to adjust to Harii’s presence, and it was on his second visit and during dinner that she couldn’t help but ask, “So, are you a couple?”

Immediately Harii choked on the _sake_ he was drinking (because he preferred it over wine) and Mihawk’s grip on his wine glass tightened until the crystal groaned. Both pairs of eyes, amber and green, turned to her, one unreadable and the other gleaming with a mix of incredulousness and amusement.

“What,” Mihawk said slowly, “ever gave you that idea?”

Perona’s usual brash composure deflated under the strength of the stares and she wrung her hands, murmuring, “Well, you drop by so often, and Dracule actually _talks_ to you, so I just assumed…”

Mihawk made a disgruntled sound and waved her away. She scuttled out of the room, but couldn’t help but slow down to catch Harii’s surprised words: “I can’t believe she actually had the guts to ask!”

**Shichibukai**

Mihawk had been a Shichibukai for a while before anything personal finally leaked to his ‘comrades.’ While he was grateful it wasn’t something like the location of his home island that had been found out, he was most displeased when Doflamingo interrupted a meeting to push a photo in his direction.

“So, Hawky,” the disturbing man had said, cackling, “I heard something about a little swordsmith of yours not too long ago.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed and he picked up the photo carefully. It was a picture of Harii, sitting on a crate and holding a bottle of Ogden Firewhisky as he stared over a harbor. He was happy to note that it wasn’t Harii’s home island, so he would be safe to retreat there if need be, but was still not pleased in the least. “What do you want, Donquixote?” He snapped.

Several eyebrows went up around the table at his hostile tone, and Dolfamingo laughed madly. “Nothing, nothing!” He said, waving his hands. “I was just curious, that’s all. We all know how great a swordsman you are, so when I heard rumors about your swordsmith I just _had_ to investigate!”

Mihawk placed the phot back on the table, face unreadable. “Is that so?” he said flatly.

“And I even found out that he did some worked for _Whitebeard_! Crafted his current _naginata_ even, _Gin Bana_ (8) is its name! He must have a real reputation, ahaha!”

The marine at the head of the table frowned, eyes darkening. “Is this true, Hawk Eyes? Because if it is the Marines must - ”

Mihawk interrupted the man, a scowl on his face. “It would best if none of you were to disturb this man,” he said, waving the picture in the air and turning to leave. “He will not hesitate to rip you apart.”

**Fearless (Shichibukai ll)**

It was just Harii’s luck that he would be in the same area as the Shichibukai meeting that was currently being attacked by moronic pirates. And since Harii was so fearless, it was like him to come rushing in without thought, Mihawk mused.

He was currently working his way through the crowds of pirates, swinging his short sword deftly and taking out a dozen men at a time. Harii had appeared suddenly on the other side of the battlefield, leaping from the top of a pile of crates and decimating a group of pirates around Jinbei with a swing of his long sword. His gold sash fluttered out behind him as he moved with a speed on par with Mihawk, and he wielded the sword with one hand, only using the other to occasionally support it with a big swing. When not occupied with the sword, his hand made deft movements through the air, causing massive cracks to appear in the ground and the air to compress around men, making them drop to the ground with ruptured ear drums.

When Harii cut his way to Mihawk’s side he was grinning and he’d caught the attention of all the Shichibukai. Mihawk growled lowly at the man and swung his sword at him. Harii just blocked it with a laugh. “Hawk bastard, I didn’t know you were here,” he said, idly compressing the air around a group of pirates who were about to charge their backs.

“That was the point.” Mihawk bit out. He ignored the Shichibukai as they finished off their attackers and began to wander closer. “You get in my way often enough as it is.”

“It wasn’t my intention, asshole,” Harii said, rolling his eyes. He sheathed his sword as there were no more opponents standing, and deftly yanked Mihawk’s short sword from his hand. “How old is this thing again? It’s starting to go,” he said with scowl. He palmed the weapon and wiped it free of blood, ignoring Mihawk as he loomed over him.

The Shichibukai watched blankly from several feet away. “Who do you think it is?” Gekko Moriah asked.

“A son?” Crocodile said. He was short enough to be.

“A lover?” Boa Hancock said. They all turned and gave her slightly disturbed looks. She scoffed and looked away from them. “Che, do not look down upon me! Look, they are much too close in age, and see how Mihawk does not harm him!” They all glanced back and watched as the man wrestled yet another weapon from Mihawk’s person and scowled over it. Hawk Eyes seemed ruffled and pissed off, but the most he did twist the man’s wrist and take back his short sword.

“Oi, oi, he’s no son of Hawk Eyes, though I don’t know about lover,” Doflamingo said with a grin. “He seems to be his swordsmith.”

It was at that moment when the man looked over, glanced at their appearances, and turned back to Mihawk. “What’s with the weirdos?” he asked, jabbing a finger in their direction.

Mihawk’s anger diminished, and he seemed more amused as he watched veins throb in Gekko Moriah’s and Hancock’s foreheads. “They are the Shichibukai,” he said.

“Really? The World Government hired _them_?” He gave Mihawk a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “You have my condolences for having to work with them.”

Mihawk let out a sigh as the rest of the Shichibukai puffed up in righteous fury and began to threateningly make their way towards them. “Shouldn’t you be at Whitebeard’s _Moby Dick_ right now, inspecting the Commanders’ weapons as requested?” He said.

Harii waved a hand airily. “I just stopped by to restock on _sake_ ,” he informed Mihawk. “When I ran into you lot.”

“Yes, yes, us,” Doflamingo said suddenly, dropping an arm around Harii’s shoulders and leering. “Do tell us, how exactly did you meet Hawk Eyes? A fight,” he paused to waggle his eyebrows over his sunglasses, “a bed?”

Harii scoffed before even Mihawk could react and shoved Doflamingo’s face away. With a flick of his finger an invisible force strung the Shichibukai up by his ankles in midair. The grin disappeared from the pink-dressed man’s face as he swung limply in surprise. “It was, most surprisingly, neither of those,” he told Dolfamingo. “And I would appreciate it if you did not touch me, Donquixote.”

The Marines chose the moment to appear at the edge of the plaza, rushing towards them. “Halt!” The one wearing the captain’s cap shouted. “You there, do not move! You are under arrest for allying yourself with pirates!”

Harii rolled his eyes again and turned to Mihawk. “You better be back at your island soon,” he threatened. “I need to fix up your weapons; they’re starting to go. Now,” he said, pulling out a pocket watch and neatly stepping a slice of a sword from a stealthy Marine, “I should get going. See you later, asshole,” and then he disappeared from the very spot he was standing with a crack of displaced air.

**Bounty**

Though the seas were a large place, all people of high calibre had a skill of always running into people they knew. That day for Mihawk, it was Rayleigh he ran into. The silver haired man was sitting on a cliff, a bottle of _sake_ in hand and a smile on his face. When he spotted Mihawk below on his coffin boat, he waved an arm and shouted down to him, “Oi, Hawk Eyes! Come up; I’ve got something to show you.”

Rayleigh had never shown any sign of hostilities to Mihawk, so he obligingly made his way up to the ex-pirate. “What is it you wished to show me?” He asked.

Rayleigh took a gulp of his _sake_ and turned to face him. “I was recently over with Whitebeard,” he said, “and he told me about your swordsmith. His name was Harii, right?”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. How was it that Harii always attracted the attention of powerful people? “Yes,” he said slowly.

“Well, I was bored a week or two back, and I decided to wander around an old Marine base. I found this,” he pulled an aged paper from his coat, “on the corner of the billboard. The name was familiar, so I took it. I think you should look at it.” He reached out and offered it to him, the paper fluttering in the wind.

Mihawk accepted it in silence. It was the familiar format of a wanted poster, but the picture there was one he recognized – Harii. He was dressed in black with a gold bandana – actually, it was the same sash he now wore around his waist – and seemed to be jumping down from a building towards the camera, sword in hand and a vicious grin on his face. He looked only one or two years young than he’d been when they first met.

The name under the picture claimed him to be – “’Emerald Eye (11)’ Harii?” Mihawk said, looking up sharply. “It says he’s worth 98,000,000 _beri_ (12).”

Rayleigh smiled. “Yes, when I found I was just as surprised. I was curious as to why he had a bounty, so I tried to check the records. There was _nothing_. And I mean nothing. It was nothing ever existed, or - ”

“Or someone went and destroyed it all.” Mihawk rubbed his chin, scowling at the picture of his swordsmith. How was it that Harii had had a bounty, and he didn’t know of it? And how had word not spread? Even if Harii had destroyed any paper evidence the Marines should have been able talk about it – no. He remembered, once, where they’d gotten mixed up with a hot-headed Marine Captain who didn’t know his Shichibukai from regular pirates and attacked them. Harii had put him on his knees and murmured a single word ( _Oblix? No, not that…)_ and the man’s eyes had glazed over. He’d gotten up and wandered off, and Harii had just told him not to worry about it.

Because the man’s memory had been erased.

Well, that would explain how no one knew, but there was still much to be answered.

“I think,” he said, placing the poster in his coat and turning to head to his coffin boat, “that I need to have a discussion with Harii.”

**Godric**

It was after their first fight together that Mihawk asked about Harii’s sword. With a scowl, the swordsmith had made it appear from midair like always and handed it to him. It was long and straight and gleamed in the afternoon light. It was made from a metal he’d seen before, and the rubies that encrusted the hilt looked like they had never seen wear, though they obviously had. When he went to run a hand along the blade, Harii stopped him quickly.

“Don’t touch the blade,” he said seriously. “It’s poisoned. A single cut can end your life in minutes.”

“Poison?” Mihawk said, quickly withdrawing his hand. Poison was not something a true swordsman like himself approved off – it was much too underhanded.

“Yes. Many years ago, I slew a _basilisk_ ,” Harii told him, taking the sword back from him. Mihawk tilted his head at the unfamiliar word in Harii’s strange language, “a king of serpents. The blade absorbed the poison, which is the strongest in the world, and the only way for it to cut without poison is if I will it to be. As I was not holding it, you could have ended your life very quickly.”

Mihawk let his muscles relax and reaffirmed his opinion of Harii still being a true swordsman, and let his curiosity reignite. “The blade absorbed the poison?”

“It’s made of _goblin_ silver. Anything that will make this weapon more dangerous, it will absorb.” Harii told him, sheathing the sword and letting it disappear once more.

“The runes, on the blade,” Mihawk asked a moment later. “What did they mean?”

Harii smiled that melancholic smile that he wore when distant memories overtook him. “It said, _Those who wieldeth this sword wield the might of Godric Gryffindor_ (9).”

“Godric Gryffindor,” Mihawk twisted the strange name around in him mouth.

“Yes. A man of legend, from my home land far, far away.”

**Eyes**

Mihawk’s eyes lived up to his nickname – Hawk Eyes. They were sharp and he could see just about whatever he focused on no matter how fast or far. It was an excellent advantage in a fight, and it was a well-known fact to those that knew him. So when Harii was smashed and he himself was slightly buzzed, the green-eyed man began to whine. “I’m so _jealous_ ,” he said, sighing. “To have such good eyesight must be great.”

“Why are you whining? Your eyesight’s fine,” Mihawk said, not looking away from the sky. He was comfortably sprawled on the couch on Harii’s front patio, and the stars were especially bright that night.

Harii groaned and rolled over so that his head was rested on a cushion that had fallen from a chair, and came dangerously close to knocking his head on the side of his fountain. “It wasn’t always,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“My vision. It wasn’t always fine.”

“Oh?” Mihawk turned his head to look at the sleepy swordsmith, who was entranced with the shooting stars that were flying by overhead.

“Yeah, I used to have glasses,” Harii told him. “When I was a teen. But I found someone who could do an operation, and got them to do it.” He squirmed and swung his arms lazily, not even bothering to move when his hands fell into the water of the fountain. “Fuck, I’m so happy I did that.”

“You did not enjoy having glasses?”

“Nah, they were as ugly as sin and always got in the way. And they didn’t even make me look smart.”

“That’s understandable. Making you look smart is a terribly difficult thing to do.”

“Hey!”

**Disapparation**

When Harii first disappeared into thin air, Mihawk may or may not have had a moment of inner panic, but that was only because they were in the middle of a battle. While visiting Shanks, who had been ecstatic to finally meet Harii, a group of rookie pirates sprung an ambush on the _Red Force_ , Shanks’ enormous ship. It had not been a problem, the rookies were barely anything more than ants beneath his shoe, but then Harii had decided to clamber up the mast to take care of the fools who had gone to cut the sails. He had disposed of them easily when suddenly a cannon ball ripped through the sail jib he was standing on, and Harii was sent flying over the edge of the ship.

Mihawk saw his falling form out of the corner of his eye, and was too far away to be able to do anything, as was Shanks or his close crew members. He remembered Harii twisting in midair and somehow finding him in the crowd, and meeting his eyes. There had been no panic in his eyes, and he had seemed deathly calm.

Then he disappeared with a crack like thunder.

The rookies under him had covered their ears with their hands, leaving them open to attack, and a matching crack had echoed from behind Mihawk. The swordsman turned to find his smith standing there, shaking his head like he was riding himself of a head of fog and the rookies around him on their knees.  “What was that?” he asked immediately, not caring that they were in a battle and wanting to know _how his friend had just teleported_.

Harii blinked. “It’s called disapparation,” he said calmly.

**Whisky**

If there was one thing that really solidified Harii’s position as Mihawk’s friend and swordsmith, then it had to be the alcohol he kept in the back of his cupboards. He’d found it accidentally; while searching for the bottle of wine Harii had apparently bought after his last visit to his forge. The bottle was strange, dark amber glass with lines of gold, and a thick parchment label on it, proclaiming it to be _Ogden’s Finest Old Firewhisky Brew_ (10). Curious and always in search of good liquor, he took the bottle to the counter and popped open the cork. There was a rush of smell that confirmed the fact that this was _fine_ alcohol, and he poured himself a shot glass. He downed it just when Harii walked in, and felt the burn run down his throat as the swordsmith realized what it was he was drinking.

“Hawk bastard, just wait a second,” he began, eyebrows rising, and then a heat swept through Mihawk’s body like a wave of miniature fire.

Mihawk bravely swallowed down the cough that wanted to come out, and raised his glass in Harii’s direction. “What is this?” he demanded, voice slightly scratchy.

Harii snorted and snatched the bottle from him, pouring himself a glass. “It’s called firewhisky for a reason, asshole. A drink for courage and merry times, from my home land. Next time you can _ask_ before you grab a random bottle; I have a hell of a lot more stuff that has a bit more of a kick around here.”

Mihawk took another drink and hummed as the now familiar heat bled through his veins. “There’s more?” he said.

Harii snorted and waved the bottle. “Ah, Mihawk, there’s _always_ more. Stick around and you might find out all my little secrets.”

And that was that.

**Magic**

Secretly Mihawk had always though that Harii’s inexplicable powers were something beyond Devil Fruits or things he’d seen before. The Devil Fruits were disproved because Harii swam often enough with no problem, and nothing, _nothing_ , he knew of, could let people make whips of fire or compress air with a wave their hands or repair a torn paper with a whisper or erase memories.

So, in the back of his mind he secretly called it _magic_.

When an awed swordsman praised a sword of Harii’s making, Harii had just smiled and shrugged. However the man had then said, “It’s like you’re a magician!”

And Harii had stopped, considering it, and gave that secretive smile of his that always reminded Mihawk of how much he _didn’t_ know. “Well,” he said, “I suppose sword smithing is just another type of magic.”

\--

NOTES

++ (1) Roughly translates to Steel Island (2) Brisk Evening (3) Alcoholic rice wine (4) Made this up, but there are things like it in the Harry Potter world (5) staff weapon with a long blade on the top, what Whitebeard uses to fight with in Marineford (6) Silver Finger (7) Dialogue is from actual One Piece episode (8) Silver Banner (9) Made this up, but I know the runes say something about Godric Gryffindor (10) Made up the appearance of the bottle, but I figure it’d be something like this (11) In Japanese it’s roughly _Emerarudo no me Harii_ (12) The currency in One Piece

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on FanFiction and I figured it would be good to get an AO3, considering that I'd been reading around as a guest before. Hope the community of AO3 will enjoy it as much as people at FF.net seemed to. The rest of my works will be coming shortly as well. 
> 
> Harii and Mihawk's relationship is originally platonic, but people can read into it however they want.  
> Leave a comment to let me know your thoughts ~


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